


Golden Warp

by adrunkgiraffe



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Dad Miles, Gen, Golden Wind, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5: Vento Aureo, M/M, Passione is the Orion Syndicate, Sleeping Slaves arc, Yes its another crossover, bruno is too young for this, hey fucked up that abbachio is the same age as nog huh?, honor among thieves, i have thoughts, miles becomes a gang-star
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrunkgiraffe/pseuds/adrunkgiraffe
Summary: Bruno learns that trusting a good man can't always be enough. Miles goes on an undercover mission and meets the Dominion's newest Gang-Star allies. Both learn the long term consequences of working with the Orion Syndicate.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Honor Among Thieves Part 1

The bar was about 20% less fancy than the Olive Gardens that used to litter 21st century Earth, but at least it meant the staff wouldn’t get antsy if he hung out there too long. Miles Edward O’Brien drank a synthale and tinkered with some piece of metal or other as he listened to the argument in the next room.

“No, you idiot! I’ve explained this to you a thousand times-” A loud voice echoed into the main area of the restaurant.

“Well you’re not explaining it well enough...or maybe I actually got it right, and you just don’t want to admit it.” A teasing juvenile voice answered back. 

“16 TIMES 55 IS NOT 28!” The first voice somehow grew louder.

“Why do I even need to learn math? That’s what computers are for-”

“Hey, guys, shut up. Stop disturbing everyone.” A deeper voice chastised. “Bruno will be back any minute with our new orders from Raimus.”

“Hey, Fugo, can you order us some food? Me ‘n’ the little guys are hungry.”

“What do you want, then?” The angry voice replied, now merely miffed.

“Ooh Vulcan noodles. The kind that go all spicy right as you swallow ‘em.”

“Fine. Abbachio, Narancia, you want some?” They must have answered him silently, because O’Brien didn’t hear anything before a rather tall betazoid walked out into the main room and towards the ordering console. He wore a green suit that was covered in holes. O’Brien would have assumed they were from wear and tear, but the neatness of the cut implied that they were intentional. Some weird fashion, he supposed. More interesting was the outlet on his neck, an implant O’Brien knew was used for hacking. 

“Oh, get an extra one. So we have five.” The head of a human poked out, wearing more odd clothing. 

“Why? Bucciarati isn’t here yet, and we don’t want it to be cold when he does show up.” The man paused before a look of realization passed over his face. “Wait this isn’t your stupid thing about the number 4, is it?” 

“It’s not stupid!”

“I’m here now, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” A voice from the entrance called out, belonging to what looked to be a Vulcan, though decked out in such odd attire that O’Brien couldn’t really see the logic in it. “And I could hear you three blocks away, Fugo, you really should be more careful with your voice.” The Betazoid, who looked to be ‘Fugo’, fumed at this, but kept his mouth shut and continued looking through their list of those they would fleece for their lunches.

“Bank of Bolias or the cops?”

“Bolias. We billed the cops for last night’s meal.” The Vulcan waved off, looking away in time for Fugo to get in, and for O’Brien to press down on the controller in his hand, spiking the pre-sabotaged machine so that a wave of electricity shot out at Fugo, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Bucciarati! It’s-” The Vulcan looked back to see Fugo crumpling to the ground, electricity still arcing onto his neck. He moved forward to help his subordinate, and that was Miles’ cue.

“Don’t touch him!” O’Brien stood up, blocking the Vulcan off. “They’re spiking him! You’ll get electrocuted too.” The others ran into the room. The human from earlier, an Andorian, and a kid who O’Brien really couldn’t place. He cautiously approached the console and fiddled with it, surreptitiously turning off the charge. “That should do it.” Fugo stumbled back to where the Vulcan, now assumed to be the leader ‘Bucciarati,’ caught him and made him sit down.

“Are you okay Fugo? What did-?”

“I’m fine, Bruno but-” He took the plug out of Miles’ proffered hand “Look at it. It’s fused.” In the light over the table, Miles could see Bruno and Fugo a little better, and his eyes widened as he realized that Fugo looked to be about 16. That blast could have killed him. 

“Unlucky, that.” He said, covering up his disgust as much as he could. “That’s a pretty expensive piece of hardware. It’ll be difficult to replace.”

“What am I gonna do? I don’t have enough to-”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“You might not have to actually.” That made the assembled look towards him.

“And what exactly do you know about it, huh?” The Andorian, owner of the deep voice from earlier, interrogated. His eyes seemed to look right through Miles’ entire cover. He kind of had an air of Odo about him, though it was hard to imagine Odo ever wearing something that...revealing. 

“Well that depends.” 

“On?” Now it was Bucciarati’s turn to be suspicious.

“How much you kids are willing to pay me to fix it.” 

“Oi.” Interjected the mystery kid, owner of the childish voice with trouble doing math. “You must really be an idiot if you think you can scam us just cause we look young.” He got up in Miles’ face, which was an accomplishment given how short he was. Up this close, Miles could see the ridges that seemed to cover all of him. Klingon, Bajoran, Cardassian, he seemed to have all of them. 

“What Narancia is trying to say,” The human fiddled with the weapon in the holster at his hip, “Is we’re not the type you want to mess with.” 

“I can handle this myself.” Bucciarati signalled them to stand down, and they grumbled back to their little nook of the bar. “They’re right, though. I find it odd you could have been in here these last two weeks, tinkering, and not realised who we are.” Miles felt a little ridiculous taking this from someone who looked that young, Vulcan or no. It brought back old memories of Julian. 

“I was a little slow on the uptake I guess.” He’d been putting away synthales by the tens, so as to make himself look like a drunk. 

“I suppose you were. Listen, what’s your name?”

“Connelly.”

“Well, Connelly, if you come back tomorrow with that apparatus fixed, we’ll see if we can’t do anything to get you some better paying work?”

“Sounds good to me.” He let out a kind of aggrieved chuckle at that, as Bucciarati returned to the separated dining room. 

He was in. 

Outside, he met with his contact. A man who very much looked the part of an admiral rather than an undercover operative, out of place in a dimly lit back alley.

“Bruno asked me to fix his subordinate’s implant.”

“I’m impressed. How’d you get in so quickly?”

“I spiked that subordinate while he was on console.”

“Risky. Was this before or after you attacked Bruno upfront and then asked him to help you take down the boss?” His tone was sarcastic.

“Hey, I had to get noticed somehow, and the sooner I start, the sooner I leave.” 

“I know. I wish you hadn’t had to come in but we couldn’t risk it. Our undercover operatives keep dying. Just get us that name and you can go home.”

“I know, I know. What do I do until then though?”

“He’s gonna look into you and find a fix it man down on his luck. Go with that cover, and take any more work he gives you. Anything to make him trust you. And O’Brien?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take more risks. They might not look it but they’re dangerous. They’ll kill you if they find out.”

“I know.”

“And if they offer you any kind of injection-” 

“I know. I read the briefing.”


	2. Honor Among Thieves Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruno listens to his subordinates have a fascinating debate, and answers some incisive questions. Miles fixes a transponder and has some rather dry cookies.

The next morning, Bruno’s crew sat around the table eating breakfast. 

“Hey you guys ever wonder what people taste like?” Mista asked, shoveling sausage into his mouth. 

“Mista what the fuck.”

“Why the fuck would you even ask something like that?” Fugo physically separated himself from the table, taking his plate with him. 

“What do you even mean by that?” Narancia asked, far too much genuine curiosity in his voice for the prompt given.

“YOU are a people, Mista!” Fugo continued to shout.

“Nonono...I mean humanoids...like here’s the thing there’s a whole theory put forth by Prilok or some shit that what meat eats makes it taste better. There’s this fish that used to be on earth and it’s the sweetfish, right? And most earth fish taste like shit, especially the guts, but they got called sweetfish cause their guts actually tasted sweet.”

“How do you even know this?” Bruno asked in quiet wonderment at his beautiful idiot of a subordinate.

“Who would want sweet fish.” Narancia muttered in disbelief. 

“More importantly, that’s not even special. Tons of Betazoid and Bajoran fish are sweet.” Fugo directed this last quip at Narancia, whose facial ridges smushed in consternation. 

“Wait really? Ah, fuck.” Narancia groused.

“Well that’s cause of their diet. They probably eat like a lot of kelp or weeds or whatever. Other fish eat other fish, y’know, they’re like carnivores. Most of the stuff that tastes good, cow, pig, chicken, Andorian Redbat, is herbivorous. So, since we eat meat, humans probably taste bad. But, Vulcans are mostly veg, so Bucciarati probably tastes fine.”

“What about non-humans, though? We have different taste buds.” Bruno ignored Mista’s jab.

“Plus most food these days is replicated anyway, so it’s not like you’re really eating the animal, just reconstituted atoms and why am I expanding on this stupid ass concept.” Fugo had his head in his hands, Uttaberry crepe now abandoned. 

“Also,” Abbachio extended his fork and his antennae in Mista’s direction to accentuate his point, “Even those earth animals you mentioned ate meat. I read once that Pigs and Chickens were both considered to be omnivores, so they could very easily have eaten human flesh, and Andorian Redbats are just flat out carnivores.” At this moment, Bruno, who was facing towards the doorway, noticed the cautious figure of Connelly standing near the edge of the room, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“Hah! So he’s not even accurate?”

“Not remotely.” Abbacchio actually smiled at that, in some semblance of victory. 

“Everybody, quiet down.” Bruno placidly interrupted “We have a guest.” 

Connelly lumbered forward with a touch of fear. 

“And he comes bearing gifts.” Bruno’s vision zeroed in on the implant in Connelly’s hand. 

“I told you I would fix it.” He said plainly, clearly uncomfortable. Fugo snatched the small circle of metal out of his hand, but paused for a moment. 

“Any feedback?” He asked, suspicious.

“He gets headaches.” Bruno clarified. 

“No, there shouldn’t be.” 

Still dubious, Fugo placed the implant into his neck. His eyes widened in surprise as he felt absolutely no feedback, and nodded silently at Bruno to convey he felt fine. Bruno turned towards Connelly again. 

“It is astounding that you were able to do this so quickly.” 

“I’m good with my hands.”

“And from a one bedroom apartment in Jimani street, no less.” It was almost suspicious. This man’s skills clearly outclassed his situation. Bruno scanned Connelly’s face for sweat, though in a muggy bar like this, there was no real way to tell. 

“It’s definitely strange.” Abbacchio whispered, almost to himself. He scooched closer to Bruno, protective instincts kicking in, though it wasn’t as though he could really do that any better than Bruno could protect himself.

“How do you know where I live?” Connelly sounded genuinely put off by that, which actually pointed in his favor somewhat, if he still wasn’t prepared for what they were. It spoke to something obsessive within the man’s tinkering that he could be that fast while still not cottoning on to the presence of the Orion syndicate while one of their most up and coming leaders was speaking to him. More than anything else, that made him a perfect fit for Bruno’s little coterie, obsession and passion. 

“I have my sources. Come with me.” He got up to lead Connelly back to his apartment. “Alone.” He said, motioning for Abbachio and Fugo to sit back down. “I want you two in charge until I get back, alright?”

“But what if-”

“I said, alright?”

“Yes, Bucciarati.”

As they left the bar, Bruno noticed Connelly visibly let out a sigh of relief. 

“Don’t be quite so calm yet.”

“What?”

“I may not be quite as...intimidating as my associates, but you do still need to keep in line, yes?”

“Oh. Ah, of course.” They remained in silence for the rest of the journey, though they were repeatedly stopped by various neighbors of Bruno’s asking him for favors or thanking him for those already given. 

Finally, they approached his building. He looked up to see Connelly wavering. 

“You do not quite need to be that in line. You can ride the turbolift with me.” He tried to keep the amusement and pity out of his voice as Connelly joined him hesitantly.

\--

“Sit if you’d like- though not there.” Bucciarati gestured behind him as Miles took in the small-ish apartment, “Taralli likes to sit there, and he’s very possessive.” Miles watched as a fairly large and fluffy cat with white and brown fur and eyes as blue as his owner’s jumped onto the indicated seat. Putting on the air of someone completely out of his element, which to be fair, he kind of was, he glanced up at the ceiling to see a massive fishing net hanging from it. On the table, a series of assorted misshapen cookies from a variety of cultures - mostly Earth - piled high on a plate. Miles took one out of curiosity.

“You seem to attract that type, don’t you?” He muttered, mostly under his breath. 

“I apologize for my subordinates’ behavior.” Fuck. Vulcan hearing. Miles’ gaze dropped back to Bucciarati, who had entered back into the room with a Klingon rifle. 

Miles straightened a little in his chair at that. 

“Are you going to-?” The Vulcan’s face was placid, but O’Brien could sense just the faintest hint of a pitying smile. 

“No, Connelly, I’m not going to kill you. Trust me, you would know if I were.” His eyes flashed dangerously. 

“Right.” O’Brien laughed uneasily at that, though this was not as much part of the cover as he would later describe to Julian.

“I suppose someone like you, who’s been knocked around so much by fate, must frequently check over your shoulder for ill surprises.” 

“You get used to it.” Miles shrugged, but put a bit of fatigue into it. Luckily, he had practice with broken backs.

“Still, you’ve had some rather heavy misfortunes over the years, haven't you? Like that incident with the stolen goods.” Bucciarati was probing for something, for some answer, and Miles would have to give it to him without giving it. “You were lied to, and then got put in a cell for it. Two years must have been hard.” Two years. He’d technically done twenty but that wasn’t relevant right now. 

“Why do I get the feeling like ‘misfortunes’ are what you look for in a group member?” Bucciarati looked a little caught off guard by this, pausing as he turned the rifle over in his hands and handed it, sudden and sullen, to Miles. “Is it because we’re more loyal to you if we have nowhere else to go?” 

“Unfortunate origins do not guarantee loyalty, Mr. Connelly.” Bucciarati was suddenly very formal. “Only trust and honor can do that. But yes, I do tend to find those qualities more readily in those who have suffered heavy losses. Especially a loss of home.” Miles felt a bit sick to his stomach at this, but he kept on a brave face. Bucciarati seemed to have plastered on one of his own, as he asked, “Now, I was sold three of these at premium, but they don’t seem to work. Can you fix them?”

“It looks like a burnt out induction coil, which is simple enough.” Bucciarati almost seemed to smile in relief. 

“Good. If it isn’t too much, could you have it done by tomorrow?

“You still haven’t paid me for the implant, but I’ll see what I can do, yeah?” Miles was accustomed to seeing the facial quirks of irked changelings and vulcans at this point, but nothing like this uncomfortable pain on Bucciarati’s face.

“Of course. We are a legitimate business after all.” He left to get the credits, but paused, back turned on Miles, voice quiet. “We are legitimate, you know. I realize that my associates and I must seem like children playing at being criminals to someone of your experience, but we are very serious.” His voice was dark and yet also delicate. 

“Of course not. At least, you Vulcans age slower, yeah?” He tried to sound a little more ignorant than he was, taking a bite of the cookie he had almost forgotten was in his hand, “For all I know, you could be older than I am.” What could Bucciarati be, 50 years old? Juvenile, for a vulcan, but still old enough to have a hold over his emotions enough to manipulate a bunch of children. 

“I’m 20.”

20.

Miles almost choked.

20 years old. That was younger than Nog. That was barely older than Jake. No wonder his associates were so young, they were the only ones he could hold age seniority over.

“Are you okay?” Miles realized he was genuinely choking on the cookie.

“Ghttgdyeah.” The beginning of that phrase came from some hellish region of the back of his throat. “Just uh. This cookie, awful dry, if you don’t mind me saying.” That brought a rueful smile to Bucciarati’s face.

“Narancia made them about two weeks ago, and he and Mista get so disagreeable when I just toss out food. Plus, he worked hard on them.” Miles had to stop himself from nodding with the empathy of someone with a replicator nearly wallpapered with the same crayon drawing about fifteen times over. 

“It really would be a shame. I should uh, be getting to work shouldn’t I?” He suddenly felt the need to be escaping. Well, really, he felt the need to be protecting this actual child from the shittiness of the world he’d gotten himself into, which was a feeling he needed to escape if he had any intentions of maintaining his cover. 

“One last thing before you go. Do you have a family, Mr. Connelly?” Bucciarati was now staring into him with the same level of incision as Odo might. 

He did. He had a family that he was missing every day. A family that was the reason he was getting involved. He had to remember that, no matter how much he wanted to protect these people, he needed to get home to Keiko, Molly, and Kirayoshi. 

“No. I’ve got no one.” It made for a better story that way.

“That’s a shame.” Bucciarati smiled again. “Family is the most important thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't *not* keep the cat from Honor Among Thieves, but his name is Taralli (which is an italian cookie!). Also I really wanted to add my own two cents into Mista's whole animal theory.


	3. Honor Among Thieves Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connelly gets a steady paying job. Bruno gets asked a favor. Threats are made.

“How did you manage to replace the induction coils?” Abbacchio leered over at Connelly, thinking back on that brief moment he’d been in an emergency course to identify changelings at the academy. Unfortunately, he had dropped out of the program before he could learn interrogation techniques.

“I uh. I have a supplier that’s all.” The tinker was very clearly a man of a very nervous disposition, which, while it did explain his compliance in the face of people like Fugo, Mista, and even Narancia, did nothing to quiet the concern bubbling up in Abbacchio’s mind. First off, a man of that disposition was not suited to this kind of work chiefly because of his susceptibility to threats. Second, that if he wasn’t predisposed to nerves, he was hiding something. 

“Who is this supplier then?”

“I...can’t really say.” 

“Oh come on.” Narancia sat on the table. “We need more suppliers, especially if that guy sold us faulty equipment, it’d be good to know where we can get stuff that actually works.”

“Well it’s my business alright?” Connelly was getting agitated. 

“Speaking of which- Bucciarati, what do you want me to do to that guy?” Fugo asked.

“I will handle that myself. Though, Connelly, I’d like for you to come with me, if you don’t mind.”

“Why?” The rest of the assembled also looked up in confusion.

“My source has no idea these have been fixed. Bringing you with me will make him less likely to fool me with technical speech. And it will be good for you to see this end of the organisation.” Bruno said it all so matter of factly. 

“Wait, Bucciarati.” Abbacchio held up a blue hand, “How do you know you can trust him like that? You should at least take one more person along till you’re sure.”

“Well, hey-” Connelly objected weakly.

“He won’t even tell us where he got the parts.”

“Well, my supplier would rather remain anonymous and he-I promised I wouldn’t tell.” He was getting fidgety now, so Abbacchio pressed his advantage, pushing forward and pressing Connelly against the wall. 

“This isn't a question you can just brush off. Where did you get the parts?” Everyone aside from them could see just the faintest outline of an aura around Abbacchio, and just the faintest division where his hand was joined by another. Abbachio’s ability wasn’t in fighting, and using Moody Blues wouldn’t make him any more deadly, but it was an effective test nonetheless. If Connelly’s eyes shifted, and he saw the purple figure behind Abbacchio, he would react, and it would mean he was a risk in his own right. If he didn’t, he might turn them in, but he’d still be scared enough of Abbacchio as the looming figure that he was. Despite his relative youth, Abbacchio actually looked more like an adult to the undiscerning eye. Benefits of trauma, he supposed. Plus, the white hair was genetic. 

“Fine! I stole them alright?” Connelly tried to break the grip on his shoulder. 

“What?”

“Why didn’t you just say that to start with?” Bruno asked, slowly approaching, likely to stop Abbacchio from punching in the face of the man he expected to fix things for them. 

“I...well, I didn’t want to get you all implicated if the cops came after me. After all, I know what it’s like getting picked up for something like that in your twenties.” Abbacchio almost flinched at that, pulling his hand away.

“So you were lying...to protect us.” The five of them looked amongst themselves, considering these actions for a moment. Abbacchio and Fugo shared a look that both knew meant ‘We’ll go along for now but if we were right whoever is closer to Connelly has to glass him.’ The silence lingered uncomfortably, until Fugo noticed a shifting near the entrance to the room and cleared his throat. 

“Bucciarati, I’m sorry I forgot. Someone called ahead asking to meet you.”

“Who?”

“A florist. Works downtown. We looked him up, he checks out. Completely normal.”

“What does he want?”

“He lost his daughter about six months ago. Apparently, she jumped off a building. Police are saying it was a suicide, but he thinks otherwise.”

“Why is he coming to us with this?”

“He says we’re the only ones that can help him. And that he’s willing to pay anything.” Normally, Bruno would just sit down and have the conversation, however, he was curious about something. 

“Very well. I’ll speak to him...alone.”

__

Miles considered how of all the times not to have Julian’s improved hearing, this was perhaps the worst. It was hard to get a handle on the conversation happening in the next room without straining his ears, and if he tried to use anything to amplify the sound for him, he’d be caught by the eagle eyes of Fugo and Abbacchio. He just had to make do with the barest amount of noise coming out of the other room. Something about a sculptor, and a statue...but he’d come to discuss his daughter, hadn’t he?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t hear much more above Mista’s indignance. 

“Uuugh come on. This isn’t fair to the rest of us!”

“Bucciarati can decide not to have us in if he wants.” Fugo took a sip of the tarkalean tea he’d ordered. 

“Not that. You an’ Abbacchio can both hear what’s goin on, with your psychic abilities and his fuckin’ antennae, but me an’ Narancia are probably gonna be the ones who have to handle it, so what is he saying?”

“Why do you think we’re listening?” Abbacchio feigned an impressive level of nonchalance.

“You’re always listening.” Mista deadpanned. “Besides, you’re too paranoid not to make absolutely sure the conversation’s on the level.” Abbacchio grimaced at the insight, but then turned his gaze once more upon Miles. 

“What do you think is being said in there?”

“I don’t know.” Another test. “It’s like Mista said. I don’t have anything to make this easier on me.”

“You’re more competent than that at least. What do you think is being said?”

“Well…” He could be honest that he was listening in, after all, that was probably what most would do in this situation. It wasn’t like he had actually gotten that much anyway.

“I...uh...I think someone said something about a daughter, which, well, I guess makes sense given what he’s here about. Something also about a...a sculptor who I’m guessing...could have killed her?” He was pretty proud of himself, though he supposed it would have been obvious. When he got back to the station he’d have to tell Julian. 

Fugo and Abbacchio exchanged another look before returning their eyes to their plates. 

“Well? Did I get it right?”

“As much as you could, yeah.”

“What was the point of that?”

“Not much, just a bit of recon, really.” Abbacchio shifted his demeanor back to seeming nonchalance, but he kept glancing over at one of the barstools. 

Before Miles could question it, though, Bucciarati reemerged. 

“Mista, you’ll be coming along in the transport with Connelly, Fugo, and I. We’re looking into the death of this man’s daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a shorter chapter, but the next one in this fic is very long, so this'll get us there.


	4. Sleeping Slaves part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruno stumbles into danger. Miles runs into danger. Mista leaps into danger. 
> 
> None of this is good.

The buildings on Farius were not, as one might expect, uniformly disreputable. Most of them  _ were  _ fairly disreputable, but not all aspects of said disrepute were uniform. For instance, the buildings on Jimani street were disreputable due to their predatory rent practices for, frankly, unlivable apartments. Bruno’s apartment, meanwhile, was slightly more reputable and legitimate  _ physically,  _ but only because of its disreputable role of housing people like him. 

The building to which they were travelling in this slightly cramped transport fell more into the second category. It was fairly nice, _especially_ for Farius, with a courtyard that, through a series of holograms and strategic light-fixtures, made it feel like one was standing in sunlight rather than the smog that covered the entire planet. Its disrepute - or lack thereof - was similarly conditional, depending on if one focused on its relative upscaleness, or the fact that just half a year ago, a woman had jumped to her death from its roof. One might question why a planet like Farius would even _have_ buildings like this. The answer is that there are abundant people just rich enough to give themselves the _illusion_ of extravagance independent of violence. 

Miles was shaken from only slightly less pretentious musings as the transport landed with another  _ jolt.  _

“What the fuck, Mista?” Fugo asked, gripping his seat for dear life, “Why can you not just _drive normally_ today _?”_

“Do you guys  _ really  _ not see that thing?” He pointed over to a round stone, poised opposite a matching one on the gate to the building. Admittedly, it  _ was  _ odd in this metal-girded city to have something built of  _ stone,  _ but it was hardly reason to get so excited. 

“ _ So?  _ The neighborhood is upscale. We knew that. Could you just  _ get out _ and stop assaulting our fucking stomachs?” Mista looked dejected at this, but got out nonetheless, permitting Fugo to switch to the driver’s side. However, before they could get underway, Bucciarati got out himself. 

“I think I will check in on Mista for this.” His voice was even, concealing the concern that his actions betrayed. 

“He’ll be _fine,_ he’s just being skittish.” Fugo dismissed angrily. 

“Is he?” Bucciarati raised a pointed eyebrow, and Fugo looked away in a huff. His own brows furrowed as he focused a little more on his friend’s state.

“Okay,  _ maybe  _ you have a point.” He said, with the certainty of an empath. 

Miles, for his part, didn’t really know what to do. He was coming along for a different mission, but one that required Bucciarati. He decided it was best just to follow the man, and got out of the transport himself, much to Fugo’s annoyance. 

He jogged to join his temporary boss, who stood, soaking in the illusory sunlight of the courtyard, waiting for him.

Then the telltale sound of phaser fire erupted out of the building, and he ran, counter to Connelly’s better instincts, if not Miles’, past Bucciarati and into the danger. 

By the time he’d reached the turbolift, though, the phaser fire had finished, and all he saw was Mista in the corner, holding his...weapon up to the chin of an interestingly dressed gentleman that Miles assumed was the sculptor they’d come to interrogate, and the ruins of some stone. He ran further, trying to get to the platform before it rose. He let out a curse as his bad shoulder collided with the metal exoskeleton of the lift, but he’d made it. 

“ _ What is this _ ?” Mista hadn’t noticed him yet, choosing instead to push the tip of his weapon further into the sculptor’s chin. 

It should now be explained that Guido Mista had. An interesting weapon. See, while he didn’t fool himself that ancient Earth pistols had any sort of strategic value in a world of phaser rifles, he _did_ believe in his heart of hearts that the simplicity and aesthetic of their design was superior enough that, once he had the money to do it, he payed to have a fairly simple phaser rifle customized to appear as a purple pistol. 

Looking around the lift, the weapon was certainly an effective one, having pinned the sculptor into a corner  _ and  _ having done a fair amount of damage to the stone. On closer inspection, Miles could now see that the stone was sculpted _ ,  _ and the form it had taken-

_ Oh.  _

No wonder Mista was so angry. 

He turned back to the sculptor, who was staring up at Mista with well deserved fear, babbling his way through an explanation, asking if Mista knew the person the statue portrayed. Was this some kind of sick joke? Some weird threat against Bucciarati for investigating?

“You expect me to believe that shit?” The pistol dug in even further. 

“Believe it or not, if he came with you, it’s gonna head towards him. It’s automatic, I can’t control it-” Miles was having trouble following the explanation, looking away and back towards the statue, seeing something even  _ more  _ surprising.

“Mista.”

“Wha-  _ Connelly?  _ What are  _ you  _ doing here.”

“Never mind that,  _ Mista, look.”  _ The stone Bruno had sunk into the metal of the elevator. 

“It’s following your friend.” The sculptor coughed out. “It’ll approach him, and offer him a more peaceful death. That’s what it does. That’s what it did to her.”

“To the florist’s daughter, you mean.” Miles’ voice was surprisingly even given he didn’t know what the  _ fuck  _ was going on.

“She saw her own death, by a liver condition, shared by her father.” The man was breathing heavily now. “He doesn’t know about it yet, and by the time he will, he’ll need a transplant. Much as we’ve advanced scientifically, on Farius, synthesized organs, maybe  _ especially  _ livers,” he paused to laugh bitterly, “will run you more than a florist can afford. So, she took on the death while she was. Still healthy.”

“Yeah, right.” Mista was still seething. “But I bet, if I kill  _ you,  _ this effect will  _ end.”  _ He pushed the pistol even further. “After all, a stand’s a stand, right?” Before Miles could tell him to keep the man alive so they could question him, or ask what a stand was, Mista turned off the safety and fired again, only for the gun to misfire, and for him to be pushed back, colliding with Miles’ legs. 

“Sorry, but. Rolling Stones hasn’t sculpted my death yet.” The man looked genuinely remorseful. “I can’t. Die, yet. But neither can either of you.”

“I’ll show  _ you  _ dying-” Mista rolled forward to hit him again, but Miles stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. 

“Mista,  _ think about this.  _ While we beat down on this guy, the stone could still be following Bucciarati.” Mista’s eyes cleared a bit, and he caught his breath, taking out an old Andorian communicator.

“Mista to Fugo.” He sighed out, “There’s something after Bucciarati, you need to get him out of here as soon as possible. Me an’ Connelly will take care of the sculptor.”

“ _ What? Mista, Bucciarati already went in to help you, but he couldn’t get into the lift. He’s on the stairs right now!” _ Mista grumbled to himself, staring at his pistol for a while and fiddling with the mouth as he did. 

The turbolift neared the penthouse, the shaft shifting to glass to look on an augmented cityscape. 

“You go an’ warn Bucciarati, alright?” He said to no one, as he shot the phaser through the glass shaft. 

“What’s that gonna do?” Miles asked, avoiding shattered glass. Mista deadpanned him, then, as though realizing something, shifted Miles’ gaze to the laser, which seemed to pilot itself around the building. 

“I guess you really are as down on your luck as you look if you can’t see my Stand, huh?”

_ “What the  _ **_fuck_ ** _ is a Stand, Mista?” _

“It’s a very,  _ very  _ long story.” The lift let them out on the top floor, and Mista dragged the body of the sculptor out with him, now pointing his phaser down at the man’s hip. “I know I can’t kill you. But I  _ can  _ shoot you in some  _ very  _ painful places. Tell me how to avoid the effect.”

“I..ah...I don’t know. I’ve never seen  _ anyone  _ avoid the effect before.”

“ _ Not good enough.”  _ The pistol dug in again. “ _ Tell me how to save Bucciarati.” _

“I don’t know...for sure, but if you...if you destroy the stone  _ before  _ it reaches him...it’ll take on a new shape.”

“And that’ll stop Bucciarati from dying, will it?” Miles asked. 

“ _ I... _ that’s all I can think of that would work, yes.”

Miles paused. Given the rate of movement for the turbolift when compared to a humanoid on the stairs, Bruno was still a few floors below them. They needed to find a way to destroy the rock in time, but they couldn’t do that from here. If he were on DS9, he’d have access to stasis technology that could stop this stone no problem. He looked out the window. This high up, one could actually tell how illusory the sun-dappled courtyard really was, kept alive by synthetic lights held aloft by anti-grav to mimic natural light, without casting a shadow.

No. Even here, antigrav was a bit too complex to manage for such a simple effect. Much more convenient to just capture energy in a stasis field and bunch it together to mimic sunlight. 

“Mista. Can your...stand thing collect stuff? Or is it just destructive?” 

“What do you mean?”

“If you shot here.” He indicated the glass pane nearest to the stasis field generator he’d spotted. “And separated that box there from its wiring, I could probably use that to catch it in its place. You’d have to keep it away from Bucciarati in the meantime, though. Then we could. Take our time, find a way to destroy it ourselves.” 

“You really think that’d work? It passed through the floor.”

“I mean it’s just  _ energy,  _ right?”

“Alright.” He shot the window, and sure enough, the laser turned in a sickening loop, something snagging the stasis field generator and bringing it, more or less safely, back to them, though Miles had to tug Mista out of the way to avoid him being taken out by his own phaser. 

“How are you so sure this will work?” Mista asked again, pausing at the stairs down to find Bucciarati.

“I’m not.” Miles only half lied. “But I’ve played around with tech enough to know there’s no harm in trying.” 

\--

With the help of Sex Pistols, Mista was able to get down to Bruno, just in time for the stone to approach him from the  _ other direction.  _

“ _ BUCCIARATI!”  _ He yelled, desperately, shooting at the stone again and again. 

“Mista, what is going on?”

“No time to explain, but-” The stone reemerged and Mista jumped at it to try and stop it with his own body, seemingly effectively. “Just  _ don’t let it touch you. _ ” 

“But Mista, you’re touching it with  _ literally your entire body-”  _

“ _ WILL YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME?  _ I’ll explain it to your Vulcan half  _ later. _ ” Much as he respected Bruno, Mista was not in the mental space to be an underling at the moment, as he ineffectively scrambled to keep the stone in his arms rather than passing through the floor. 

“Fine but-” Bruno’s protests were cut short by the stone coming at him through the wall, to which he responded by using Sticky Fingers to get onto the other side of the wall, hanging by a zipper high above the city. The stone didn’t miss a trick though, and followed him. Mista slammed against the window himself, watching as the stone continued to approach his boss. He’d failed, and now Bruno was going to die.

And then it stopped. 

Bruno looked up to see the smiling face of Connelly, hand gripping onto some kind of square device, from which was emanating a cone of yellow light, stopping the stone completely in its tracks. 

“Can you get down from there?” Connelly shouted down, likely unable to see the zipper from Sticky Fingers.

“Do not worry about me. Thank you for the assist!” Bruno shouted back up. 

Meanwhile, Mista was still inside, unable to hear the conversation as Bruno had mostly closed the spatial gap in the window, but now able to see the dome of light surrounding the stone. His breathing evened out, relieved as Connelly had been right, but now also tired, his whole body aching as the adrenaline left. 

And then he looked up again and noticed an imperceptible movement. A momentary flicker.

Genius as Connelly’s gerry-rigged stasis field generator was, it was still a very impromptu thing. So every so often, for a millisecond, it would give out. And in that moment, the stone would move a millimeter.

So it was still moving towards him. Bruno was still in danger. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Mista shot at the window, glass bursting around in a shower of sharp edges that left him bloody. He ignored that, though, and threw himself forward, avoiding the cone of stasis, onto the stone, lending extra weight and pushing it down. Now, it would have to push through both him  _ and  _ the stasis field.

Unfortunately, when he did that, he put in just enough weight to dislodge it from the field completely, sending both himself and the stone hurtling towards the ground. 

In the milliseconds he had before crashing, he decided this was probably alright, as long as Bruno survived. For just a moment, part of him thinks he might even understand where the florist’s daughter was coming from. 

\--

Miles slammed his fist into the down button on the turbolift. Cursing dumb, brave, children in all their dumb, brave iterations all the while.

“He may have also made it worse, you know.” The sculptor reflected aloud. “I hope not, but, in the end…”

“ _ SHUT UP.”  _

“Oh, by the way…” he looked up. “Do you happen to know a Trill woman?” The question made Miles freeze. 

“No.” He lied. “Why?” 

“Sometimes, I sculpt the death of someone living off-world, and it just shoots out. I think it usually gets broken up by asteroids by the time it gets near most of them, but. That one. I’d never sculpted a Trill death before.”

“You’re  _ insane.”  _ Miles scowled and stepped into the now open turbolift. He  _ had  _ to be insane. An insane man with some kind of  _ insane  _ psychic alien powers who just happened to read him thinking of Dax when he’d come up with that scheme. That’s  _ all.  _

As soon as he could, he leapt off the turbolift and dashed out to see a bloodied but breathing Mista, lying atop a dented transport, Fugo yelling at him in little more than vague annoyance.

“ _ What. The Hell. Was that.”  _ Miles stormed towards Mista, who was getting up fairly casually for a man who’d just fallen from the distance he had. No. Not a  _ man.  _ A  _ kid. _

“The stasis field wasn’t holding it enough, so I improvised.” He explained simply, seemingly not noticing Miles’ seething rage.

“You could have done  **anything** else. Why would you risk yourself like that _?”  _ Miles shoved Mista back against the car. 

“Woah, calm down, man.” Mista tried to brush him off. “I can take care of myself. Besides, dude said the stone hadn’t carved my death, right? I  _ couldn’t  _ have died.”

“You’re really going to go into something like  _ that  _ on the word of someone like  _ him? _ ”

“Okay, I know you’re new to this, man, but you need to  _ shove off. _ I’m an adult, I knew the risks. I did my job.”

“You-” Miles stopped short, vision clearing a little. He released his hold on Mista, who he really didn’t know that well, and stepped back.

“You’re not my  _ dad,  _ yeah? No need to nag me like one, then. Yeesh.” 

“Connelly isn’t wrong though, Mista.” Bucciarati approached. “That was an illogical risk you took. What if the car hadn’t been there?” Mista looked like he was about to argue, but acquiesced. Bruno was _maybe_ a couple years older than him, but Mista seemed to trust him like a father.

“Now, Connelly, given you’ve just saved us  _ three times  _ now.” Bucciarati dusted him off, “What do you say we get you looking a little more like one of us?” 

Miles looked over the outfits of his newfound companions, and suddenly felt a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting for a very long time to publish this chapter. It's heating up folks. Also, Miles' Dad Instincts are Too Powerful.


	5. Sleeping Slaves, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruno makes a promise and receives an important visitor. Miles gets some new clothes, a drink, and some world shattering intel.

Just as Miles feared, the tailoring process ended up being more hellish than their second interrogation of the day, fraught with scraping for any bit of dignity he could preserve while also toadying to Bucciarati _just enough._ By the end, he’d managed to compromise for just slits around his shoulders, though it left his sleeves feeling a bit useless. At the very least his chest wasn’t showing. Miles thanked the Prophets that Julian - or, let’s face it, Keiko, - wasn’t here to see this. 

Now he stood, red faced, as the rest of Bucciarati’s subordinates gawked at him. 

“Well?” He asked, if only to break the silence.

“It’s a little...plain.” Narancia remarked, mouth full and teeth openly gnashing. “Couldn’t you have at least lowered the collar a bit? Tightened the fit?”

“I suggested it, however Connelly was stringently uncomfortable with the idea.” Bucciarati made a gesture as if to say ‘Alas,’ as Abbacchio furthered his observation, searching for _something_ to say.

“I mean, he looks. _Fine?_ ” His antennae twitched. 

“ _Fine?”_ Bruno quirked an eyebrow coolly, “I took him to _my_ tailor. The same one I took _you_ to.”

“And have I ever told you that you look _less_ than fine? _”_ Abbachio returned with something deeper in his voice, and Miles _pleaded_ that this wasn’t going where he thought it was. If only because it would make debriefing all the more awkward.

Luckily, a snide looking Farian beamed into the room at that exact moment, flanked by bodyguards, smiling snakishly at all of them. Or was that patently unlucky?

“Bucciarati.”

“Raimus.” Everyone stood at attention at the name, though Miles was a little surprised that the rest of them didn’t recognize him immediately. 

“We have a guest.” Raimus stepped aside and Miles had to hold himself back from a jolt when a Vorta stepped out beside him. 

“I hope you gentlemen weren’t in the middle of something.”

“Bucciarati, who is this?” Raimus’ eyes flicked over to Miles, nerves suddenly coming alive in his stomach.

“I know him _._ ” Bruno assured him with an even voice. 

“How well?”

“I _Know_ him.”

“Fine enough, for now.”

“I thought your security measures were a little more _rigorous_ than that.” The Vorta snarked.

“Bucciarati witnessed for him. Short of Polpo’s test, it’s the best confirmation we have, and I’d rather someone not die in the first week.” _Polpo,_ he was in Miles’ mission briefing. He was Bruno’s main capo before he and his team had been loaned out to Raimus and sent to Farius a year ago. 

“Very well. So. This is Bucciarati.” The Vorta got a familiar sort of predatory look in his eye that made Miles suppress a shiver, but Bucciarati stayed stock stiff.

“Yes.”

“He certainly seems…” Those seeking purple eyes roamed over the egregious display of zippers on the Vulcan’s body, “ _Reliable?”_

“Polpo sent over his best.”

“I would hope so. You have the disruptors?” He switched to addressing Bucciarati. 

“Yes.” The Vulcan’s tone betrayed nothing. 

“And you’re ready to do what we ask of you?” Despite only having an inch of height between them, the Vorta seemed to tower over Bucciarati. Or maybe it was just that, in this moment, Miles noticed how small Bucciarati was, not _physically_ but metaphysically. 

“When I know my instructions, I will carry them out to the letter.” Bucciarati agreed solemnly. 

“Quite.” The Vorta smiled in a way that was also a snarl as he acquiesced to the beam in site. 

“Don’t let us down, Bruno.” The use of his first name felt too intimate for this setting, felt dangerous. 

“I won’t, Capo.” Raimus seemed to take this for what it was, and joined his Vorta friend on the stairs. As the incursion dissipated, so too did a seeming stasis field over the room. Bucciarati, especially, seemed to deflate, moving to press back against the bar, catching his breath and dropping his composure for a moment. 

“I take it that _witnessing_ is probably a much bigger deal than it sounds.” He sidled up next to Bucciarati. “And it already sounds like a pretty big deal.”

“Yes.” Bucciarati answered back hoarsely, “It means I’m accountable for you. Your sins are mine, as it were.”

“So you better not fuck this up.” Abbacchio groused from behind them.

“Sounds serious.”

“In the long run, yes.” Bruno quickly composed himself. “But, for now, we should celebrate. You’re nearly a full fledged member, after all.”

“Oh, speaking of which, what’s that _test_ that Raimus was talking about?”

“You will find out after this mission- that is, if you want to come with us back to our main stay on Casperia Prime.”

“Your _main stay_ is on a pleasure planet?”

“It keeps us close to Polpo, and the other planets in the Casperia system are not nearly as wiped clean. Polpo was very careful in deciding where to be arrested.”

“I see.” Miles was genuinely impressed. “I guess it would have been a bit harder to get arrested on Risa.”

“For many reasons.” Bruno gave him a meaningful look before ushering him to the door.

\--

“I have to thank you again for saving me this afternoon.” Bruno poured the wine high up into his glass. After the day he’d had, he needed it.

“Oh the clothes are, uh, more than thanks enough.” Connelly shifted uncomfortably at the praise, or maybe it was the clothes themselves, Bruno could not tell. 

“No really, I am impressed.” He sat down across from Connelly now, handing him a much less full glass of wine while Taralli weaved lazily between his legs. “How did you figure out that the stasis field would work like that?” Connelly seemed to freeze at this, panicking for a moment.

“Well, I, uhm. I worked for a similar building nearby before they looked up my record and told me to get out. So from there it was just applying the function of how it worked to a different situation.” It fit the intel, sure enough, but Connelly was still so _nervous._

“Like a true tinker. You got creative.”

“I -ah- suppose so.” Connelly still seemed a bit _too_ bashful. Maybe it was just the man’s age, or nervous disposition, but it felt deeper rooted than that. If he was really going to have Connelly in the group, he’d need to get at those roots and pull. 

“I don’t say this out of suspicion, Connelly. I wouldn’t have vouched for you if I still had doubts.”

“I know that.”

“Then calm down. Enjoy the celebration. Many roads lie open to you now.”

“I-I know. It’s just- the danger of it all. I feel a bit too old for this, and if I end up bringing you all down with me-.”

“I appreciate your concern.” Bruno nodded sagely. “I understand _why_ you have a fear of endangering others. However, everyone in this organisation knows the risks.”

“Do you though?” A brief pause, and Bruno collected himself. It would not do to indulge illogical worry like this.

“Is the incident with Mista and myself still troubling you, Connelly?”

“ _Of course it is,_ Mista could have _died._ Or you-”

“Mista was defending his team leader, as he’d be expected to. I was in danger only briefly. We are fine.” Another pregnant pause followed before he felt compelled to elaborate further. “However. I cannot deny that your _outburst,_ however unfounded, was not much different from what I would do if I could.”

“What do you mean?”

“I exist within a delicate position. You were correct in observing how young my fellow team members are, and how troubled. As their leader, I remain objective, calculating the risks, knowing in my mind that they themselves are aware of the risks and will trust me to take them. My Vulcan heritage aids me in remaining objective.” He paused, looking for understanding in Connelly’s eyes which he was surprised to find. “However, as they have all come to me with their own burdens it is _difficult,_ at times, for my human half to wrestle down the need to soften their wounds.”

“What kind of wounds?”

“Oh, myriad. Fugo was the first, angry at the world and vengeance in his heart. I don’t think his story is mine to tell. Abbacchio, too, had given up. Used to be in Starfleet, actually. Or, he trained for it at least. Then there was Narancia. I actually turned him down the first time, as he was far too young. Then Mista a little later, when no jobs would take him because of his record. All of them needed somewhere to belong, and the syndicate offered an elegant solution.”

“And what about you? What does the Orion Syndicate offer you?” The question gave Bruno pause, which was becoming a theme with Connelly.

“Many things. When I was young, it offered me and my father protection, though that story is a long one. Over time though...it became more about what I could _do.”_

“Who you could protect.”

“In a way I suppose. But raw power has its own benefits, especially if you know enough to use it correctly.”

“And _carefully._ ”

“Yes. Which is why we’re so spread out right now, effective placement. We even have someone in Starfleet.”

“Aside from Abbacchio?”

“Yes. Raimus met him on Risa about a year ago. I’m told he was paid a hefty sum to get the cadets to stop the rain. From there it’s just been lists and lists of undercover operatives.”

“So what is he, an admiral?”

“An admiral _and_ a capo.”

“Huh.” Connelly muttered to himself. “ _Very_ interesting.”

\--

Miles stumbled a little as he exited the lift. Most of it was an act, but Bruno’s wine was no joke. Understandable, given Vulcan alcohol tolerance. On his way into the cool night air, he saw Abbacchio, moody and lurking, seemingly waiting for him to move along. The man scowled as he went up to take his own time with the team leader, and Miles felt a bit relieved, but still alternated to rendezvous number 17, just in case the man doubled back or sent Fugo after him. He was tired, but still managed to pull himself together as he approached Chadwick. 

“Nice clothes.”

“Yeah real funny. I found out who the mole is. It’s an admiral who went to Risa about a year ago.”

“An admiral. This runs deeper than I thought. Still, should be easy to figure out who it was”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh. Yes. This evening, Bucciarati and co hosted a Vorta in their midst.”

“A _Vorta? Then the syndicate is working with-”_

 _“_ Seems so.”

“This is bad.” Chadwick started briskly away.

“Can I go home yet, then?”

“No. I want you to stay in there, find out what their plan is.” Chadwick outpaced him by several meters, leaving Miles tired, worried, drunk, and sad all at once, and even worse for wear when he realized he still didn’t know what a stand was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday, I will draw the outfit Bruno made Miles buy. Until then, let's all enjoy some good good Angst, and Bruno's predisposition to default to his human side, much as he tries not to. Also, I've put a chapter limit of 6 on this cause I'm dividing it into a longer series under the Golden Warp umbrella.

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with another crossover fic. I cannot be stopped, but I should be. I just need someone to give Bruno a hug. 
> 
> For actual context:  
> For DS9-only fans: this is an AU where instead of meeting Bilby and co. during Honor Among Thieves, Miles meets a group of semi-enhanced criminals with abilities he does not understand yet.  
> For JoJo-only fans: this is basically a Sci-Fi/Star Trek AU where part 5 happens over a much longer period of time.  
> For both: 'Sup?


End file.
